Chapter Text
He’s not acting himself.
Of course he’s fucking not, Katsuki thought but didn’t say, because that absolutely would’ve been the last straw and they would’ve kicked him out. He’s still here though, pacing the hall. He’s been circling the room so long his feet hurt, and the clicking of his uniform boots must be long past annoying.
If he stops moving, doing something with his body, he might start acting out. Doing things he might regret. Katsuki doesn’t regret things for no reason, and right now it’s only the reoccurring possibility of being escorted out keeping him in line.
Eijirou’s friends - because they’re not his anymore, he cut them off soon after that day - are sitting in the gray, stiff chairs surrounding him. Some of them, like Denki and Mina, are in hero gear, Jirou and Sero in pajamas or casual wear, caught by an urgent call in the late evening hours. They’re still present though, which is a blessing and a curse. Partly it means not everyone forgot about Eijirou, there’s still people thinking about him enough to care. The other half he’s reminded of is that it’s not just Katsuki, so he’s promptly faced with personalities he hasn’t seen in months. Ones he purposely left behind.
But Eijirou’s back.
Maybe not in one piece, maybe not all there, maybe not even the same Goddamn guy, but Katsuki doesn’t care. He’ll take him home, cradle his fingers and cheeks and legs in gentle hands, and he’ll be there.
It’s just a long, agonizing waiting game to find out what exactly he should be expecting. His mind is running a mile a minute, pulling up any and all possibilities.
No one knows what happened to Eijirou. Not yet at least, and he’s assuming that’s exactly what the heroes and detectives are trying to piece together right now. Katsuki is dying to know, to be filled in immediately, right now and here, because he deserves answers. He deserves to see Eijirou. More than any of the others in the room, he deserves it.
Just seeing the others makes him angrier than he already is. They didn’t do the shit he did. They didn’t go to sleep at night missing the warmth beside them, they didn’t try and figure it all out themselves, and they didn’t lose their fucking mind every second of every day. They offered their support, sure. Their hugs and meaningless words and open couches. He didn’t need it. He got shit done.
Denki is, as usual, the first one to break the stretch of tense silence. “Anybody want a snack?” He asks, voice grating in Katsuki’s ears, exhausted and awkward. “I’m just gonna grab something from the vending machine.”
It’s not rude, or insensitive, or careless the way he says it. Just annoying. Katsuki ignores him.
“Just a water.” Jirou requests, the other two shaking their heads.
Katsuki can basically feel the turn of his head, and the separation of his lips. “Bakugou?”
“Fuck off.” He spits, hard and fiery and hot, because this is someone he can actually take his anger out on. Denki can’t do shit to him that will deter his chances of seeing his fiancé any time soon.
Denki lingers a moment, Katsuki almost catching a roll of his eye, before backing off. It seems no one has enough energy to fight back, offering half assed apologetic glances. They’ve barely talked since each of them arrived, and he’s guessing it’s out of avoidance of his outbursts. Katsuki’s completely fine with that. He can’t handle idiots right now.
The door opens, and each of them pause, just to see who it is. When they realize the woman in the suit has no plans to head their way, they deflate. Katsuki’s fists tighten, nails biting the skin of his palms.
Thumping, thumping, thumping fills his ears, the sound of his heart ticking like a bomb in his chest. He needs answers, and he needs them now.
Denki returns, snacks in hand, looking like a complete idiot. When he sits, passing Jirou her water, he loudly rips open a bag of chips, crunching down on the first piece, and holy shit Katsuki cannot handle this right now.
“Can you shut up?” He growls, shoes squeaking on the tile as he stops in place.
Four heads snap up, matching one another’s glare.
Shoving another chip past his teeth, Denki talks with his mouth full. “I’m sorry I have to eat, Bakugou.”
Sero shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Just leave him alone, man. We didn’t do anything.” Katsuki notices then that his bangs are longer, his eye bags darker, and a couple more piercings lining his ears. He would ask about them, how much has changed, if he gave a fuck.
“Yeah, you’re right.” His expression stays dark, scowl deep in his cheeks. “You didn’t do shit.” A laugh slips out, but it’s not to say any of this is enjoyable. “You didn’t look for him. You didn’t keep in touch with the police, you didn’t collect evidence, you didn’t even ask for updates. You didn’t do what I did.”
Even with exhausted, hot eyes burning back at him, he doesn’t take it back. He’s right and he knows it.
Mina leans back in her seat, manicured nails curling over the flesh of the chair’s arm. “Do you ever think, Bakugou, that we care? That we care a whole lot more than you think we do, and that you’re not the only one affected by this? That maybe we have been doing things to help, and you shoved us away?”
Jirou sighs, shaking her head. “Guys, maybe this isn’t the place to-,”
“Yeah, dude,” Denki stands, finding his footing, “you’re not the only one who loves Kirishima. This isn’t about you, it’s about him, but you cut us out.”
“And guess what,” Katsuki closes in, spitting in Denki’s face, “I found him. What exactly did you do beyond comfort each other?” His voice is raised, anger bubbling out in a mess.
Denki throws back his hands. “Oh, fuck you.”
“So what if we didn’t go meddling in the place of detectives?” Standing, Mina takes Denki’s place. “If they asked us to be a part of the rescue, we would’ve been there on the dot and you know it.” Tears blossom in her eyes, glossing over her pupils, curling her face.
“Guys-,”
Sero barely looks at him, hunched over. “If you let us in, we would’ve helped.” That stings a little, more than he’d like to admit, but the rest of his speech makes the seed of regret burst into flames. “Maybe he would’ve been rescued earlier.”
Sparks fly, smoke sizzling in his calloused hands, and it takes more restraint not to kill them all right then and there more than it ever has. Balling his hands in the fabric of Sero’s shirt, he pulls the taller man closer. “Like you guys would’ve been any help.” He sneers, shaking with rage. “You’re all idiots, the same level of stupid as you were in high school. I can’t be trusting half assed heroes to get the job done.”
More yelling fires up, some of them trying to deescalate, most of them doing the escalation. When the door clicks open, Katsuki loses the care to keep the fight going.
“Where the hell’re you-,” Mina trails off when she finds the detective Katsuki is striding towards.
“Where is he?” Is all Katsuki has to say, eyeing the entrance to the other half of the building.
The detective lets out a chuckle, like this is funny. He’s not being affected by this like Katsuki is. “Slow down there, Dynamite. I’m here to give you guys some valuable information before I let you back there.”
Katsuki doesn’t return the relaxed demeanor. “I need to see him.” It’s a statement, urgently seething the way he says it.
“As I said, you’ll get back there in just a moment.” He’s being polite now, no more pleasantries, which still pisses Katsuki off. “I just need to prepare you all for what you’re about to see.”
That doesn’t sound good, not in the slightest, and all of that rage fizzles into a lump of fear in Katsuki’s throat. He has nothing to say, no way to bite back. Not this time. Right now he’s all ears.
“He’s in rough condition. Less so physically.” Is how the detective leads, pushing up the crook of his glasses with his knuckle. “As you know, Dynamite, we located him in an underground facility owned by the league.” Katsuki keeps eye contact, sharp and anxious, as the detective returns it coldly. “He hasn’t sustained any long lasting injuries as we can tell, all harm healed into scars at this point.”
“What about-,” Mina swallows, “what about mentally?”
“I’m getting there.” The detective replies, a detached smile gracing his lips. “While having been under the care of the Villains, among others, it seems he’s been more than tested on.”
Playing nervously with a strand of her hair, Jirou croaks, “Like, um, experimented?”
He nods. “He’s a bit taller with more muscle. His quirk has been tampered with more than anything, which we have yet to fully pin down how.” Huffing a breath, for a moment he acts like he actually cares. “In terms of his brain, he’s certainly been through some damage, whether due to injury or some other means.”
Katsuki’s body is getting louder, clamoring at him so much he thinks he might pass out. “And what the fuck does that mean?”
“As of now, we know he can’t remember much from before the kidnapping, if anything.”
That’s fine. Well, it’s not, none of this is, but Katsuki can handle it. He’ll have to, and he will pour his all into nursing his fiancé back to health.
“He’s not been easy to retrieve, either, by his own resistance. He didn’t exactly return by his own choice.”
“And why not?” Sero steps up, and Denki has to hold him back from losing his shit.
The detective glances down, like he can’t look them in the eyes when he says it. “He wasn’t being held there by force. Not anymore, at least. He thinks he’s a villain.”
The fuck?
The overwhelming sound of his insides gets impossibly louder then, screaming in his ears. It’s so great he thinks for a second he misheard. No, this is real. Too fucking real. Mouth dry, he can’t manage a peep.
“In a sense.” He continues, back to making painful eye contact. “More so he believes he’s a sort of weapon. A guard, a lackey. Less than that, if I’m honest.”
“Why?” Katsuki tries to bark it, to flesh out his anger in some capacity, but it squeaks out like a whimper. Nothing else comes out. He wants to punch this guy straight in the nose, fist shaking at his side. Somehow he doesn’t.
The detective licks his lips. “We’re not completely sure.” When he notices the seething look behind Katsuki’s eyes, he rushes to say more. “He’s not exactly compliant in our questioning at the moment. All the information I have has been gathered through the operation, our own surveillance, and a few confessions.”
If Katsuki’s knuckles weren’t such a tense white, he would have half a mind to hope this wasn’t real. That maybe this was a fluke, and Eijirou was on the couch, petting the cat, and waiting for his fiancé to get back from work.
Jirou turns, covering her mouth in a showing of her dismay. “Shit.”
Flexing his hands, keeping the heat sizzling beneath his skin from letting through, Katsuki searches for the right words. He can’t yell, and he can’t insult. Instead, he grits them through bared teeth. “Let me see him.”
The detective nods, with that stupid fucking grin he wants to blow off of his face. “Well, that’s another reason I came to talk.” The rest of the group stiffen, controlling their panic. “We’ve decided it would be best for one of you to go back and see him.” There’s a slight hitch of breath, just before his vision settles on Katsuki. “Seeing as you are his emergency contact, you are allowed back, Dynamite.”
He can feel the dissatisfaction of the others tearing a hole through his back. Needless to say, he couldn’t give a flying fuck.
There are no more words shared, just the rest hanging back and him walking off with the detective. He knows they’re waiting to talk until he’s passed the guard of the two doors that separate him from the love of his life. They can talk all they want. He’s the one that got them here, he’s the one that loves Eijirou more than the Earth loves the Sun.
There’s a split second when the keycard clicks, when the doors fold open, when he steps through them, that he really thinks about this. There’s no way to prepare himself for what he’s about to see. He’s never come across something like this before, especially not when it’s his favorite person on the planet. He’s not sure how he’ll react. What his body will do. What he’ll find.
Katsuki follows close behind. There’s doors every few feet, ones that lead to an endless amount of rooms. Every one he passes is lost behind him when there’s plenty more to come, so many that he couldn’t count if he wanted to.
There’s several hallways they walk through, several locks they click. His breath dries thin throughout it, his mind running a mile a minute and not at all at the same time. It’s only once they reach the last door of a short hall that they’ve found the one.
He knows it’s the right one because Aizawa sensei is leaning right outside of it.
“Hello Bakugou.” Is all he says, tipping his head, like this is casual conversation and not the few moments before he’s going to enter the nightmare of his life.
Katsuki lets his hands curl and uncurl in a rhythm that’s been going as long as all night for all he can remember. “What’re you doing here?” He growls, which, of course, doesn’t phase his old teacher.
“Helped out with the rescue.” Aizawa’s gaze flickers to the detective, who stands in place as if he’s keeping Katsuki away. When his eyes return, he’s giving Katsuki a look that tells him all he needs to know.
The detective clears his throat like he’s annoyed he’s being interrupted. Katsuki whips around to face him, lip twitching. “There’s going to be a lot of people in there. Heroes, police, and detectives. In the middle he’s got his own room, encased in glass.” His fingers move to his ID card, going to swipe. “Don’t make too much of a fuss.”
It’s not like these facilities are new to him, like he’s never been in a carbon copy of this room surveillancing a villain. Only this time, it’s Eijirou.
The first thing Katsuki notices is that he could easily mistake him for someone else. He almost did.
His hair isn’t red anymore. It’s pitch black, a color Katsuki has only ever seen in his roots. Eijirou never let the natural color grow past anywhere near eyebrow level, always saying the red was like a part of him. He loved that color.
It’s not styled either, which Katsuki’s seen before, countless times, but this is different. It’s different in the way it sits, like it’s been cut in an unfamiliar way. Eijirou never lets anyone cut his hair, it always has to be himself, even when he makes mistakes. It’s okay, he says, that just gives it personality. He only allowed Katsuki to touch it once, and that never happened again.
Once Eijirou lifts his head, just the tiniest bit from its hanging position, Katsuki stills. He looks to see who’s walked in, angered disgust framing his features, and his expression doesn’t shift. Like Katsuki’s another one of the people working on his case. Like Katsuki could be any other enemy. Eijirou doesn’t even give enemies that look - not many villains get looked at that way - let alone his partner.
Katsuki feels the vomit roll in his stomach. Somehow he keeps it there.
There’s scars carving his face, and not just the one he’s always had. They’re deeper cuts, larger and stretching parallel from his nose around his left cheek. There’s one going over his lip too, all of them peeling away a layer of his smooth, warm flesh that Katsuki wants badly to touch. He misses it like a drug, just the feeling of contact.
In a moment it’s over, and he looks back down, like Katsuki is nothing at all.
Like Katsuki is no one.
Unable to help himself, to grab for more remnants of who he still hopes to be his love, he keeps staring, gaze inching over each line and curve of his body. He barely notices when he steps slowly closer to get a better look.
Eijirou’s in a tank top, a near gray that looks like it wasn’t always that color. It hugs what Katsuki can see of his abdomen, which is mostly concealed by his hunched position. The black cargo pants are the same. They’re both absolutely bland, so bland it makes his vision hurt more than the neon colors he’s always in.
There are the restraints too. He’s stuck in the chair, the one that’s metal and bolted to the ground, and the quirk suppressant machinery around his hands are welded to the table in front of him.
Katsuki can’t move. It’s not too much - it could never be, he’d look at Eijirou with adoration a thousand times over no matter how beaten he was - because Katsuki’s too good for that. He’s too Goddamn good to break down now, the time he needs to be there for Eijirou. This is his moment. Eijirou needs him, not the other way around.
Aizawa’s behind him, a few feet back, giving him space but still saying he’s there. It’s a different sort of comfort, one he’s okay with. All of Eijirou’s friends were too loud about it, too pitying to do anything to change it.
“I have to talk to him.” Katsuki states aloud, no longer sure if anyone’s still beside him to listen. It’s firm and wobbling at the same time.
Aizawa nudges the detective, who’d gotten stupidly sidetracked in a separate matter, absolutely oblivious. “He’s ready to talk with Kirishima.” Is all he mumbles, but it’s commanding in the same voice.
“That’s alright.” Is what the detective decides, coming back up to Katsuki, who doesn’t let his vision slide away from Eijirou. “Though there’ll be some guidelines, which I’m sure you’re aware of.”
Katsuki doesn’t make a noise, but he’s listening.
“We’ll all be out here, waiting to take over if something goes awry. You have ten minutes tops. He’s in a vulnerable state right now, and you’re the only loved one he’s allowed to see as of now.” Katsuki nods a little bit, but all of what he’s hearing is a little muffled. He’s too focused on getting inside of that glass box. “No touching, no loud anything, and don’t overload him on any specific details of his past. It might be too much for him. Oh, and Eraserhead will be going in with you.”
That’s the first time in a minute Katsuki has turned to face him. “Why?” He snaps, and it’s not necessarily malicious.
“He’s really only talked with him so far, even if it’s just insults. No one else has gotten so much as an eye roll. So, he’s going in with you.”
Katsuki doesn’t fight on it, only because it’s Aizawa and no one else. Aizawa gets it. Sort of.
“I’ll be there, kid.” Aizawa reminds him, even when both of them know Katsuki won’t so much as think to accept his help. “Anything you need.”
The room suddenly quiets, and his legs start the motions of walking, following behind the detective. They’re all watching, all waiting to see what exactly will happen. Katsuki, for the first time in his life, is not ready. He won’t take this in stride with the confidence of a man on top of the world. His heart is pulsing so fast it might burst, and he’s not sure if it’ll stop. He hasn’t taken his meds in a minute, which might have something to do with the ground shaking anxiety, or it’s just that all of this is fucking insane.
The detective, for the first time in the night, gives him a semblance of a solemn look as he unlocks the door. “And Dynamite?”
Katsuki stares back, wide eyed and about to explode.
“Try not to say his name, alright?” Just before Katsuki can come up with another why, the door’s already unlocked. “Prepare yourself.”
He’s not sure he can.
Katsuki doesn’t know one bit what he’s doing or how to do it. Why can’t he say his name? How should he sit? What tone should he talk in? How does he not fuck this up?
But he’s already following suit behind Aizawa to the set of foldable chairs put up across from Eijirou, who keeps still. Katsuki doesn’t tear away from him, searching aimlessly for so much as a glance. It’s not until they sit, Katsuki shaking so bad the chair squeaks, that Eijirou faces up.
His glare is red like it always is, but this is ruthless, like he wants to bite Katsuki’s head in half and eat it. He’s not daring to do the same to Aizawa, only Katsuki. Aizawa’s definitely already gotten this treatment earlier.
“Red,” Aizawa starts, and Katsuki snaps towards him, face sharp, “we’ve brought in someone who’d like to speak with you.” His voice is low and soft, the one he only uses in cases somewhat similar to this.
Mouth parting, Katsuki blinks.
Who the fuck is Red?
When he finds his way back to Eijirou’s face, it’s like he’s frozen in his piercing scowl. He sits there, drawing the moment on as Katsuki fails to gather his thoughts. Then, gravely and sick, he speaks.
“Fuck off.”
His expression fails to falter. He’s angrier than Katsuki has ever seen him, and it’s directed at Katsuki himself. At the same time the sound of his voice sticks a wind in his throat, and a craving for more plaguing his mind.
Before Aizawa can continue placating him, Katsuki’s mouth opens. “No.” It’s a little angry around the edges, he can’t seem to reign that in, but he hopes it’s just a little desperate.
As bloodthirsty as Eijirou appears, he stays quiet at that. This scabs on his face bob when his lip quirks.
Katsuki can feel the heat of his temper hot on his face, and it won’t go away. Maybe he should be more comforting, more gentle, but that’s always been Izuku’s job, even when they were kids. Eijirou’s never expected that from him.
Startling him, Eijirou peels his eyes, slumping back in his seat, effectively allowing himself to look right down on Katsuki. He bares his teeth a little, just a glimpse through his snarl, and they’re even sharper than before. Deadly almost.
Katsuki can’t help but think about the feeling of Eijirou’s teeth on his skin, nipping at his flesh instead. For a second he gets lost in it, like he’s not where he is.
“Who’re you?”
Katsuki comes back to life in an instant. It’s said in a growl, bitterly, and that’s not why it hurts so bad. It’s true, all of what the detective told him. The hope of a chance of recognition flickers out.
Tensing his fingers around the drawstring of his sweatpants, Katsuki lets a breath wash out of his nostrils. “Who do you think I am?”
Eijirou’s mouth tightens at that. He thinks for a second.
“Probably some-,” his mouth breaks into a ghost of a sour smile, “some shitty excuse for a friend in a life I never lived.”
Okay, that’s worse.
“I’m not a friend.”
Eijirou lifts a brow.
He’s sweating. It feels like it’s pooling in his shirt, like the room is growing hotter by the second. “I’m not just a friend.” Eijirou keeps staring as he swallows. “I’m your fiancé.”
His eyes go a little wide then, his face stretching further livid. Still, he doesn’t speak.
“Katsuki Bakugou.” He says it carefully, like Eijirou could break any second. “Your fiancé. Eijirou I-,”
Katsuki notices his mistake as soon as he says it.
A heavy breath stops him cold, and Eijirou stops looking at him and starts staring through him. It’s like one beat he’s there and the next he’s not.
“I don’t-,” Eijirou swallows heavy, “I don’t know you.” It’s cold the way he says it, like he’s detached. “My name is Red and I don’t know you.”
“Bakugou-,” Aizawa starts, hesitating.
Katsuki keeps at it. “You do. I’m your fiancé, and you’re a hero, and-,”
“My name is Red and I’m a villain. A guard dog.” He speaks mechanically, and his eyes are unfocused in a fearful way, his whole body tensed up. “My name is Red and Overhaul is my owner.”
The air freezes in place. No matter how significant the admittance is, Eijirou doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps going. Katsuki barely has any time to process.
It’s like he’s not speaking to anyone in particular. Just himself. “My name is Red and I’m a villain. My name is Red and I’ve always been a villain.” He’s curling up again, glass gaze stuck tight to the table.
Katsuki’s stopped listening. All he can focus on is fighting the clawing urge to round the table and cradle Eijirou until the end of time. He’s convinced just his tender touch could fix this, or better it. Fingers digging divots into his thighs, he’s only broken out of it when a hand is on his arm.
“Bakugou, we have to go.” Aizawa’s not hiding his fear - it’s written all over his features. His words are like a faint buzzing in the back of Katsuki’s hearing, and his jelly limbs are easily pulled along by Aizawa out of the glass cage.
Eijirou doesn’t stop. The speakers are on in the outside, echoing everything said inside by the cameras. Katsuki can’t escape it, the incoherent rambling of his Eijirou.
He can’t breathe. He needs out. He can’t listen to it anymore. He needs out.
Aizawa yanks him through the door, practically throwing him outside. “Bakugou, are you-?”
For the first time he can remember, Bakugou runs.
The others are still in the lobby when he makes it back, out of breath and visibly shaken. They can see it, but still rush up before he can make his escape.
Mina’s the first to stop him, the rest blocking him from leaving. “What happened?” She asks, insisting with urgency that she needs to know.
“I don’t-,” he can’t look at her, “I don’t fucking know.”
He can’t have this talk right now. It’s too fresh and terrible and horrifying. They don’t care. “How can you not know?” Denki raises his voice, offended like he can’t imagine how horrible it is. “You were just in there!”
Thankfully, Jirou can pick up that something’s completely off. She holds Sero back from coming at him too. “Bakugou.” He manages to look at her, pulling up a weak grimace. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
He looks between them, each one’s anger fading. All he can do is nod. He thinks he might cry, because he can feel it gnawing in his chest and behind his eyes. He’s proven right when he blinks and everything comes back blurry.
They don’t need to ask how bad, because it’s pretty obvious it’s really fucking bad. Before they can say something else stupid, he finds the strength to push past them. He doesn’t listen when they call for him, and they don’t follow.
The car is unlocked when he gets to it, being in such a hurry after the call he forgot any and all routine. It’s silent when he gets in, the only light coming from the building’s exterior.
He doesn’t usually like it quiet. There’s always some sort of music playing, whether it be his or Eijirou’s. Since his disappearance there hasn’t been much of a mood for music.
Coughing, choking on his tears and spit, he balls himself up in the front seat, letting his fist come down on his head a few times for extra measure. It’s nowhere near silent when all he can hear is Eijirou’s strangled, raw words.
This is his fault.
This isn’t the first time he’s come to this conclusion either. If he had been better, had acted like the top hero he was and been faster, everything would be perfectly fine, happy, and normal.
What the fuck is he supposed to do now?